


Upotte!! Gold Edition

by MikuVocaloid01, Nanashi_Takahiko



Category: Upotte!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Gen, Guns, Major Original Character(s), Martial Arts, Military, Military Jargon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 07:10:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3240878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MikuVocaloid01/pseuds/MikuVocaloid01, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nanashi_Takahiko/pseuds/Nanashi_Takahiko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternate perspective of the Upotte!! timeline.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Upotte!! Gold Edition

**Author's Note:**

> This is a non-profit fan-based novel. Upotte!!'s story and its characters are owned by Kitsune Tennouji and Xebec. Please support the official release.

1730, GMT +9.

The harsh light rays of summer shone, and penetrated through the thick, green foliage of trees of immeasurable ages. Despite that it was almost evening, the heat from the sun was still as severe as it was a few hours ago. The grey road was almost desolated, and, once in a while, a vehicle ran along it, disturbing the leaves that had fallen. The emptiness of this type of scenery brought along a sense of peace.

A brown-haired teen trekked up the almost silent hill, seemingly lost in his thoughts. Wandering without a destination, his eyes darted around for any sort of landmark that could help him identify his location. Feeling that the summer heat had gotten into his psyche, the teen sat down on the stone stairs. A large gulp of an isotonic drink washed through his throat as his vision slowly crept up the hill and he saw the sign: “Summer Festival” written in Japanese.

Overtaken by curiosity, the teen walked up the stone stairs, surrounded by trees and bushes filled with life. The festival was only just starting, but it was already in an eager bustle. Walking by a drink booth, the teen pointed at ice coffee on the big menu, and dropped a few hundred yen on the bar. Feeling better as the ice-cold drink ran through his system, he decided that since he was there already, he might as well look around for anything interesting.

The walkway was decorated with red lanterns, the sound of yakisoba sizzling on the iron pan as the people in queue were excitedly waiting for their treat. Small children running around with water balloons hit him, and muttered a word of apology before they continued to run, catching up with their friends. Some other people were trying to scoop some goldfish out of a big bucket of water.

“I did it! I got it!”

A child’s shout of happiness stopped him in his track. It was an air-rifle booth. As he observed the child and his little sister was demanding the owner for the toy they won, a girl in school uniform walked pass him. The girl was wearing sailor outfit with a blue collar and white blouse underneath it and a corresponding blue short skirt. The short, light blue hair slightly touched his shoulder.

Charming, he thought to himself.

The girl offered to help the children to do prize-shooting. The teen was about to turn back and walk away, before he saw how the girl held the air-rifle in her hand. It was a wooden airsoft imitation of a bolt-action rifle that shoot corks instead of airsoft balls. She had a secure grip, resting on her cheek while not pressuring the fragile-looking wooden stock. Her center of gravity was shifted forward to prepare for the recoil. As the mock rifle did not came along with any type of sight, she raised the barrel to eye level.

Not bad of a shooting stance for a school girl, he thought to himself again.

“You are from Seishou Academy? No way, you are disqualified!” he could hear the owner shout in surprise.

“What? But you have already gave it to us!” the girl argued.

“That’s mean! Don’t be so unfair! That school’s students are all pro level shooters, aren’t they?” the owner questioned as he put the prize back to its proper place.

Pro-level shooter in this forsaken of a place? Interesting, the teen thought to himself yet again as he left the scene.

Having bought himself some yakisoba from a nearby stall, he returned to the air-rifle booth, but the girl was nowhere to be seen. The young siblings were still there, grudging because they could not win the prizes they had wanted. Approaching the kids, the teen opened his mouth.

“Should I help you to acquire those items?” the teen asked in imperfect Japanese, and the siblings nodded almost instantly.

Approaching the stall, he unceremoniously dropped five hundred yen onto the stall, put down his yakisoba box, picked up the air rifle and inspected it. Sighing in disappointment, he picked up a cork and slotted it into the barrel, then rammed it into the stall as he worked the pseudo-bolt-action. The distance from the stall to the prize shelves was about sixteen point five yards.

“May I have a test fire?” the teen asked the owner.

“Sure..?”

Pointing the rifle towards the sky, he pulled the trigger and the cork flew off the barrel with a ‘pop’ sound. The cork cut through air and started to fall back down to earth. He raised up his hand as the cork dropped back into his palm.

“Wow…” the children were astounded.  
Effective range was about forty to fifty yards, he estimated, this should be a piece of cake.

Working the gun’s action again, he raised the barrel up to eye level. The heart beats at sixty beats per second in a calm state. That is a one second cycle in the calmed state, but the tension from trying to make a shot will increase the rate by double or more. The distance of sixteen point five yards, to him, however, was no different than shooting at point-blank range.

With a pull of the trigger, the cork shot out of the barrel with the speed of two meters per second and knocked down the stand with the 3DS. Working the action in less than three seconds, he raised the rifle up again and knocked down the stand of another doll.

“You are so good, mister!” the small girl cheered.

“Thank you,” the teen lowered the rifle and withdrew his finger from the trigger guard, and turned to the owner, “Sir, where are my prizes?”

“You don’t happen to be a pro shooter, aren’t you?” the owner grudgingly gave the boy his prizes.

“I wouldn’t call that professional, sir, and I’m not from any "Seishou Academy". I’m a foreigner,” the teen took his prizes and gave them to the children.

“Thank you very much, mister!” the small girl hugged him.

“I want to be like you some day!” the small boy, with the 3DS box in his hands, told him and ran away, followed by the little sister. Wiping the smile off his face, the boy stood up, picked up his box of yakisoba and quickly vanished from the air-rifle booth’s owner’s sight. He could feel the ire from that man as he shot down the prizes, and decided that leaving would be the best choice.

Having withdrawn quietly and leaving the festival behind, he walked along the desolated street yet again. His mind felt more open and relaxed. Unlocking up his smartphone, he read the message that his associate sent him as his path led him to a McDonald’s store.

“Excuse me,” he spoke in English to the cashier, “May I know where is this location?”

“You want to go there?” the cashier answered in imperfect English, “Go to the station and take the same train that you took here for three more stations. Do you want anything to eat?”

“Yes,” the teen answered, “Upsize Double Quarter Pounder with Cheese please, extra pickle and iced tea for drink please.”

“What’s your name, boy?” the cashier asked.

“Emmett. Emmett Remington.”

“That would be 960 yen, Emmett,” the cashier tapped on the machine. Emmett gave her 1000 yen and after a few seconds, the food was ready. He brought it to an empty corner, took out his map again and looked at it, double-checking with his smartphone.

“Damn it. I’m lost,” Emmett grumbled to himself as he looked at the map, “Why the hell the train system in Japan is so complicated? Where does this line go, and where does that?”

Frustrated with all of the Japanese characters that he barely even understand, he put the map and smartphone aside and took a large bite from the burger he ordered.

Halfway through his burger, his smartphone vibrated on the table.

“Where are you?” the voice on the other side of the phone asked in English, whom Emmett recognized as his soon-to-be landlord, Mister Kenneth Laurence. He was a former U.S. Marine stationed at Okinawa, who had now retired and live in a small apartment complex where he had rented a room from. They had met once in a small café at Ilion, New York, where Emmett’s father entrusted his son to Kenneth, an old friend of his, to study in a new environment, which was the Land of the Rising Sun, Japan.

“I’m lost, sir. I am at… how do you pronounce this…? Kata… no, not that… Kana… gawa Prefecture right now,” Emmett answered, still chewing on his burger.

“What. The. Hell,” Kenneth’s voice dropped, “Don’t tell me you got lost since you left Narita.”

“What is your current location?” Emmett questioned.

“I hate to say this, but you went the complete opposite direction. I live at Fukushima Prefecture. Take the Shinkansen,” Kenneth sighed.

2340, GMT +9.

Stepping down from the train, Emmett rushed through the platform and went down. The digital clock on his phone showed that it was only twenty more minutes till midnight. The station was mostly empty, asides from a few late commuters who had worked overtime or had gone out with their friends and colleagues for a drinking night. Emmett slotted his ticket into his pocket and walked out of the main entrance, looking around for a taxi.

The night’s wind was surprisingly cool, despite being in the middle of summer. The streets gave the impression of being abandoned, just like the streets at that festival. Just three years ago, there was a nuclear meltdown accident due to the tsunami, which Emmett thought to be one of the reason why the streets was so empty. However, he could not apply that reasoning to the streets of Kanagawa. Emmett started to wonder if he was breathing in radioactive particles. There were still lights shining from the houses, though, which made Emmett quickly dismiss the idea of radioactive particles in the air.

Kenneth Laurence lived at the outskirts of Fukushima, nearer to the Nigata Prefecture rather than the part where the nuclear meltdown hit the hardest. The man must have quite the foresight to avoid living in a thirty kilometer radius from the nuclear power plant. A former marine who had served during the Gulf War, Operation Desert Shield and Desert Storm, Kenneth left the service in 2009. Emmett glanced around, looking for a taxi but did not expect too much about it, when he noticed the man himself, standing next to the ticket station.

Kenneth was a man of heavy stature, 183 centimeters for height and a mass of 85 kilograms. Emmett had expected that much from a former U.S. Marine, but for a man who was approaching fifty, he looked too fit. His graying hair was cut short, and his face was shaven. His arms looked as thick as a tree trunk and he could see the blue veins under the skin. Apparently, to Emmett, this man had kept himself fit despite having retired from the Marines.

“Hey!” Kenneth called out to Emmett, “Took you long enough.”

“I’m very sorry, sir. Have you been waiting for long?” Emmett asked with some surprise that the man was here to take him.

“Not really. I calculated the time it took from there to here with Google Maps,” Kenneth then gestured to his car, an old Nissan Maxima 2000, “Get in. What did you bring with you?”

“Just my laptop, my chargers and a few change of clothes, sir,” Emmett coolly answered and hopped into the car, “FedEx will bring the rest a few days later.”

The road trip seemed so much longer without any communication between the two parties. Fifteen minutes passed, and they had passed only six to seven cars. The Japanese countryside was peaceful, unlike the hectic metropolitan Tokyo, where everyone was participating in the rat race of careers and promotions. The chase for material needs had removed the tranquility from those area long ago. Stores which open for 24/7, serving the participants, had become a part of the rat race. However, the city was where most of the interesting events happened, whereas they rarely ever happen in the countryside. Video games, movies, and exquisite café were not the only convenience of the city life. Emmett pondered, if he prefered the peaceful countryside or the convenient city.

The car took a sharp turn onto the highways, but even so, the number of cars running on the highway were still little. Only five minutes until midnight, and most of the people had either came back home, or had rented a small room to stay for the night, awaiting a new working day. Kenneth fixed the rear-view mirror as the car accelerated to ninety kilometers per hours, rushing through the highways. The trees, formed a line along the highway became a blur as the car rushed through the road.

“Not much of a talker, are you,” Kenneth remarked out of the sudden, “Strong, silent type. I like it.”  
Emmett glanced back at the middle-aged Japanese-born American before resuming looking at the streets of Fukushima in the dead of the night. The dark sky was covered in countless twinkling stars, far away from anyone’s reach. People always craved something that they could never achieve or have, and maybe that was why the stars on the sky was so beautiful.

“Just admiring the night, sir,” Emmett answered with a stiff tone.

“Don’t call me ‘sir’, Emmett. I already retired from the Marines. Just call me Kenny.”

“Yes, Kenny,” Emmett answered, his eyes still looking out of the car window.

The car left the highway and went into a small suburb. A common view that Emmett had seen for all his life, living in the States. The Nissan turned a few more times before it finally came to a stop in front of a small villa, not more than 150 meters square in size and surrounded by steel fence covered by a tall hedge.

“Well, here we are,” Kenny opened the steel gate with a remote control, and parked the car in the porch.

“I assume that there are also other people here,” Emmett looked up at the third floor, where there was still light from the windows.”

“Yes. There are some other guys here, and they are just like you,” Kenny smiled, “Welcome to my house, and in extension, Shikon Academy, Emme… No, Remington MSR.”

**Author's Note:**

> Copyright Disclaimer: Under Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976, allowance is made for "fair use" for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, and research. Fair use is a use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be infringing. Non-profit, educational or personal use tips the balance in favor of fair use.


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